Cold Spot
by Little Creek
Summary: After an encounter with a ghost, Sam just can't get warm.


**Cold Spot  
**Characters: Sam and Dean  
Rating: PG-13  
Word count: 922  
Summary: After an encounter with a ghost, Sam just can't get warm.

A/N: Here, have some nice early season H/C. :)

It was supposed to be easy – hunting the ghost of a man who froze to death, back to torment members of the search and rescue team that found him too late. But it's never easy. The ghost's touch is like ice against Sam's chest, stealing his breath, his whole body tensing in reaction to the extreme cold. He hears Dean yell. He can't move, can't breathe. The ghost goes up in flames, screaming in denial even as it disappears, and Sam crashes to the ground, his vision momentarily going dark. The ground is moving under him. No, _he's_ moving, shivering uncontrollably. His head smacks repeatedly against the hard ground, shudders wracking his body. He's freezing and breathing is an effort. All attempts to regain control are useless. He can't even curl up, just stuck lying on his back helplessly. A strangled moan crawls up his throat and he clamps his teeth together before it escapes.  
"Sammy."  
A hand on his chest, the side of his face, and then under his head. Something soft is shoved between it and the ground before the hands move away.  
"Are you hurt, Sam?"  
Quick hands brushing over his torso, skimming his arms, searching for hidden injuries.  
"You're so cold," Dean murmurs, and then curses vehemently as he realizes what's happened, "Time to go. Ok, on three. One, two, three."  
It's a move smooth from years of practice, and Sam's on his feet, arm slung over Dean's shoulders, and it takes his head a moment to catch up. His feet feel like heavy blocks of ice and he stumbles unsteadily, hobbling forward on numb feet. He tries to grab Dean's jacket for balance but he can't move his fingers.  
"Steady, Sammy," Dean reassures him, "I've got you."  
And Dean guides him to the Impala, and tucks him gently into the passenger seat.  
"Hang tight a minute," Dean says, and disappears around the back of the car.  
Sam tries to draw his legs up to his chest, only to have them tangle up and bang on the underside of the glove box. He wraps his arms around himself instead, his usually warm jacket doing nothing to combat the ice racing through his system. A thick blanket wraps around his shoulders and he startles.  
"Just me," Dean says, and he's pushing Sam forward so he can tuck the blanket behind him.  
He gives Sam's shoulder a pat before closing the door and heading around to the other side.  
"You hanging in there, Sammy?" he asks as he starts the car.  
Sam nods, but he's focused on curling his fingers around the edges of the blanket, shaking hands pulling it tighter around his body.

The room's heater rattles, the temperature several degrees warmer than comfortable for Dean. He's shed his jacket already, but Sam's hunched over on the edge of the bed, the blanket still wrapped around him. Shivers frequently ripple through his body.  
"How long is this supposed to last?" Dean asks.  
"C-couple of hours," replies Sam, teeth chattering, "Mayb-be longer."  
Dean sighs, hands Sam a steaming cup of coffee.  
"Thanks," says Sam, and sips carefully.  
His body gives a particularly violent shiver then and hot liquid splashes over his hands. Sam barks out a curse as he instinctively yanks his hands away from the pain, losing his grip on the cup and it crashes to the floor.  
"Whoa, Sam!" Dean near yelps.  
"Ow, ow, ow," mumbles Sam, the searing heat from the coffee suddenly replaced by icy cold.  
Dean wipes the liquid off with a towel and then drops the towel on the floor to soak up the rest.  
"So... coffee's out?" Dean asks, picking up the empty cup.  
Sam nods miserably.  
"That one mouthful feels like ice in my gut, Dean," he says wearily, "This sucks."  
They try a hot water bottle, but that only works to warm the place it's touching, leaving the rest of Sam's body cold. His muscles have started to ache from the tension, the shivers never letting up.  
"H-how long 's it b-been?" Sam asks.  
Dean glances at his watch.  
"About 45 minutes."  
Sam groans, his head hanging. It feels like it's been hours already.  
"We gotta try something else, man," Dean says, "You get any colder and we're gonna have to worry about hypothermia."  
The room's started a slow spin and Sam's eyelids feel heavy.  
"Sam?"  
Shadows crowd at the edges of his eyes. He can't breathe.  
"Sam!"

Waking up this time, he's not cold. He's enveloped in warmth that's spreading right through his body. Sam lets out a soft moan of relief, and hears a chuckle close to him, something vibrating against his side. He's suddenly aware that he's tucked against Dean's chest, a blanket wrapped snug around him on his otherwise exposed side, and it's Dean's body heat that's chased the chill from his bones. Sam's jacket and plaid shirt are gone, as are his shoes, but he's warmer than he's been since the ghost touched him.  
"'s awkward," Sam murmurs.  
"Only as awkward as you make it," Dean shoots back, "It was the only way to get you warm, Sam."  
Sam nods. Despite his complaint he's actually in no hurry to move. He's still tired, and it's...  
"...warm here."  
Dean hasn't loosened his arms from around Sam either.  
"Yeah, I think we've still got just over an hour before you can keep your temperature up on your own."  
Sam takes that as permission to stay right where he is. And Dean doesn't seem to mind at all.

END


End file.
